


talk too much

by divinetock3



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Mild Sexual Content, Reader-Insert, Threats of Violence, i took way too long to finish this rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 00:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinetock3/pseuds/divinetock3
Summary: after edith is handed over, beck and reader get to talking amongst the celebration.





	talk too much

**Author's Note:**

> welp! i listened to THREE songs with 'talk' in the title for this one and i swear it wasn't on purpose...at first. 'talk' by khalid, 'talk' by hozier, and 'talk too much' by coin. because all beck does is fucking talk.  
> in other news! since posting my last fic, that and my first ever story both reached 1k hits which !!! is so wild!!!! thank u so much to those that have read my fics, all of ur feedback and kudos really do bring me so much joy and i love each of u very very much. :') :') :')

[Name] isn’t reckless or childish. Sure, maybe agreeing to join Beck’s “revenge team” looks, on the surface, a lot reckless and a lot childish, but she has her reasons. Most of it has to do with ego. Working in the scientific field breeds competition and ugly spite, so maybe this wasn’t the best career choice for her, but she can’t help what makes her passionate. She likes succeeding and being acknowledged for her work. She doesn’t think that’s too much to ask for.

So when Tony Stark publicly tossed Beck and the team to the wolves, it stung. Time, exhaustive late nights, countless dollars—all of it for nothing. It was the worst moment in her adult career, hands down. She was willing to do anything to get the recognition. Just her name on a plaque would’ve sufficed.

But, admittedly, she didn’t know that Beck’s plan would go like _this_.

Beck is…He’s a lot to handle. And that is, somehow, putting it lightly. His idea started out as a declaration of justice, standing up against the big corporation and doing things _their_ way. [Name] was all on board for that. Beck’s firing affected everyone who had been working alongside him. Any association with him meant you were getting booted from Stark Industries too. It felt like the witch trials. Among the chaos, his optimism was inspiring, and she—foolishly, perhaps—didn’t mind being led by him. He seemed to have it all straight. At the time.

Now? She isn’t so sure. It was all fun and games until Beck decided it was a good idea to immerse their tech with the public. A red flag popped when he announced the plan to stage “Avengers-level threats” and create a new hero, fooling billions and therefore inverting Stark’s legacy. Of course, Beck would be the hero—because naturally. Sometimes he seems more egotistical than a certain someone ever did.

“How are we going to stage these fights?” she had asked during one of these meetings, unable to keep it locked within.

“With our tech,” he said, like it was obvious.

She had rolled her eyes and said, “I _know_ that. I mean how are we going to find somewhere well-known that is abandoned of people?”

“Oh, no, no, the people will be real.”

A terrible feeling sank to the pit of her stomach. It stuck with her all day until she cornered Beck later that night. They were alone in the lab, fiddling with the illusion tech, when she blurted out, “We can’t put lives at risk, Beck—“

But he had cut her off with a wave of the hand. He leaned in close and said, “No casualties. We’re planning it to be as safe as possible. We’re gonna just scare them a little.”

“Even that seems cruel.”

“The Avengers have done worse and look how loved they were.”

 _Were._ It still hasn’t quite processed that the Avengers are no more. After the blip, everything changed far and wide. Her own life shifted exponentially, and that’s how it was for everyone in the world. Therefore, the world changed. Nothing has been or ever will be the same, she just knows it. What’s scarier is that Beck is one of the people changing things while she just stands by.

How Beck got an in with SHIELD, [Name] will never know. Despite them being a “team”, it’s obvious that things happen behind-the-scenes that even she isn’t privy to. God knows what is talked about when she leaves the room. Is it possible they’re trying to push her out? She wouldn’t mind—she’s been strongly debating abandoning the team for a while now; just an impending sense of doom buried deep—but it’s still a scary thought. Most of these people have been her good friends for years; when you share a lab with someone for often more than twelve hours a day, you form bonds. You can’t help it. Sometimes the secrets and the lies all feel very, very personal. 

Now they’re in Prague and people came dangerously close to losing their lives. She’s fuming even when the exchange of Stark’s glasses takes place. This poor kid—he can’t be more than seventeen—trusts Beck like he must have trusted Stark once. It’s all rubbing her the wrong way. None of this is, morally, right. Exposing the world as thoughtless for following and idolizing what are, at the end of the day, _people_? Sure, she gets that. Nobody is perfect, especially heroes. But to target and exploit a teenage boy for their purposes? Not good.

Drinks move from hand to hand like playing cards. EDITH gets passed around and analyzed, but [Name] passes up the opportunity when they make their rounds to her. The very sight of them is making her nauseous, knowing the cost it took and will take. She sulks in the corner, downing her third drink, feeling she is straddling a line and trying to decide which side to choose.

This is gonna be a long night.

“Don’t get too excited, honey.”

The voice grinds against her bones and presses her lips in a thin line. She would know the sound of it in her sleep. She doesn’t bother turning to acknowledge him, just downs the rest of her glass with a toss of her head. “Not a good time.”

Beck is still wearing that ridiculous green undergarment for the Mysterio costume that, somehow, he pulls off. He has this terrible knack for being confident in any- and everything. Does he see the man he’s becoming? Or was this him all along?

“You should be celebrating.”

“I’m a little tired,” she says lamely. It’s the weakest but safest excuse she can give. There’s no doubt they’ve noticed how out of sorts she’s been. It won’t be long before they start asking questions and jumping to conclusions. God knows what they’ll do to her if they think she’s debating rebellion from the team.

“How can you be? It’s been an exciting night.”

“I just am, Beck.”

Her voice is maybe a little too stern. Outside of science, Beck’s skill lies in human interaction. She’s seen firsthand how insanely charismatic he can be. Sometimes when you’re talking to him, he can make you feel like the most important person in the room. He triumphs in deception and lies; he’s dangerous even without the illusion tech. He deals in mirages of his own weaving.

Beck knows how to read people. Therefore, he can read her. [Name] doesn’t make it easy for him; she’s unnaturally adept at maintaining a poker face even through the strangest things he’s thrown at her. The implication of civilian casualties was one of the few times she’s made her stance clear. Keeping secrets is what has kept her alive this long.

He takes the seat beside her. Subconsciously she can’t help remembering the terrible sight of Beck and that poor kid sitting side by side just like this. Peter Parker is a stranger to her, but she can guess how much of a mentor Stark must’ve been to him. Granted, Stark fired her, but she never wanted him dead for it. She never wanted any of this to happen.

She isn’t…Well, she isn’t Beck.

“You seem,” he says, and pauses before deciding on the right word: “—stressed.”

“I’m fine. Jetlagged.”

“Seems like a little more than that. You’ve been off for a while now.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You know, [Name], nobody got hurt today.”

A muscle ticks as her jaw and neck clench. Heat rises in her face, that’s how angry he makes her sometimes. He knows just what buttons to press and all it does is make her disappointed in herself. How can she let him get in her head like this?

“I know that,” she says, treading lightly.

“Because that’s your line in the sand, right? All of this is fine as long as nobody dies?”

She meets his eye for the first time that night. It makes her think of the past, when things were easier and there wasn’t so much distance lying between the two of them. Simpler times.

“That should be everyone’s line in the sand.”

“I agree,” he says. “And nobody died today.”

“But—“ And stops herself.

Beck jumps on it because of course he does. “But what, honey?”

The pet name does a little too much for her. The hairs at the back of her neck bristle. She should keep quiet. Her life, quite literally, depends on it. But she can’t keep it locked inside anymore. Beck is giving her the stage. “But how can we definitively say the same for the next time? Or the next, or the next after that? It’s not a sure thing. People will always be at risk.”

“You have my word.”

How much is his word even worth? He says one thing, and does another—every damn time. His actions have always spoken louder than his words. _Yes, because seeing is believing, right?_ This is horrible. All of this roundabout bullshit is awful, awful, awful.

“I don’t know if I can trust that,” she admits.

“[Name], I would never lie to you. We’re partners. You’re one of the few people in the world I can trust.”

“I just heard you say something similar to Peter Parker.”

This time it’s Beck who’s taken off guard. The only reason she’s survived this long is because, like Beck, she knows how to read people too. It may be self-centered, but she knows she’s the only person on the planet that can see Beck for who he really is. 

An eyebrow minutely rises, the only tell that he’s surprised. Those small gestures…She knows him. He’s manipulative and unhinged and obsessive. He zeros in on any detail in his grasp and pockets it for future use. He’s smart. Dangerously so. 

But she is too.

“He’s a necessary obstacle.”

“C’mon, Beck, he’s a kid. It isn’t his fault he’s been buried in all this bullshit.”

“He had the glasses—I couldn’t help that. He’ll be alright.”

“I don’t believe that either. You’ve seen him in action. He has a big heart. Hell, I’d say that’s his biggest weakness. It’s the reason he’s taken to you so fast, and you know that. That’s why you’re appealing to his needs. Like you said: he’s an obstacle. And if push comes to shove, you’ll do anything to get what you want.”

Both eyebrows raise this time. “I’m not going to kill the kid.”

“If he gets in the way you will. That’s how you operate.”

Beck rubs at his upper lip, an elbow propped on the bar. All of this among the chaos of drunken celebration. Nobody seems to notice the two of them pushed to the side, conspiratorially whispering back and forth to be heard over the din.

“Look at you,” he says, and she’s surprised to hear a bit of pride in his voice. “I’ve seen you use this on people, but I never thought it’d be turned on me.”

“I want more than your promise, Beck. Peter Parker isn’t going to die, and neither is anyone else.”

A mischievous smile breaks his face. “More than my promise?”

Her eyes roll. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but thinks better of it. She doesn’t want to set him off. “Nothing.”

“No, what is it?”

A bemused laugh, and she insists, “It’s nothing, _honey_.” Her voice is dripping in condescension, but if anything that gets him going even more telling by the wicked grin he’s wearing. “Prove to me you’re a good man, Beck. Don’t just say things, do them. If not, then…”

“You’ll leave?”

“Yes. And you can send as many killers as you want after me, and I’ll work as hard as I can to expose you as the villain until they catch up to me.” The resoluteness in her voice surprises her, but she knows as she says it that this is the undeniable truth. It’s something she’s willing to die for. It doesn’t sound like too bad of a thing to believe in.

“I admire your persistence. You have yourself a deal.”

Metaphorically shaking hands over what could result in her own death is peculiar and disconcerting, but that’s what [Name]’s life has become in the past several months. The blip upheaved everything normal and sat it on its head. There isn’t a normal anymore. 

“Do you feel better?” he asks.

“I’ll feel better when I see changes.”

His arm drapes around the back of her seat. So casual that she almost thinks nothing of it. But this is Beck. Nothing is ever nothing.

“Will you allow me to play favorites for a second?”

“Alright.”

Beck leans in closer. “You’ve always been better than the rest.”

The flirting has been persistent for months. He thinks she can be seduced into submission and silence. For her safety, she plays along: “Oh, really?”

“Always,” echoes Beck. “Sure, the others are intelligent, but you have something… _more_. A panache.”

“Hm.”

“I saw it the first time I met you. You have so much within you. If you wanted it, you could’ve been Mysterio.”

“I couldn’t pull off the cape as well as you do.”

“Well…maybe you’re right about that.”

“What are you hinting at here?”

Beck adopts an air of innocence that, if she didn’t know him so well, might be a little more convincing. “Just doling out well-deserved accolades. Who doesn’t love to be complimented?”

She knows where this is going. Unfortunately, she’s desired this since they met. It isn’t the charm he plays up that caught her attention, but the veneer before it. They’ve always been upfront with one another—well, she can speak for herself; Beck isn’t honest even with himself.

There have been many, many instances of amatory: Beck’s hand falling to the small of her back as they analyze illusion tests; his eyes wandering a little farther south than her face while they speak; his drunken mouth pressed to her ear during one of their celebrations in the early stages of the project; even the calling of ‘honey’ which he hasn’t adopted with any of the others. 

[Name] distances herself regardless, just to be safe. As much as she may be drawn to the man, she’s analytical enough to know that she can’t let such desires take hold of rationality. He’s _dangerous_. And not in the fun ‘bad boy’ way that men in their early-twenties are. He’s certifiably insane. Getting tangled with him isn’t smart. 

“We’re treading dangerous ground, Beck.”

“That’s exciting though, isn’t it? Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all along?”

He means the illusion tech. She’s inclined to agree, but just because you _can_ do something doesn’t mean you _should_. As much as this tech is her whole life—god, how pathetic is that?—she often wonders if maybe the problem isn’t the hands they’re in, but their existence at all. What will the world benefit from with these illusions? There’s enough trouble with lies already; as if the world needs any more delusions.

“Sure,” she says quietly, because she can’t think of an adequate rebuttal without sounding hypocritical. She’s been supportive of all of their choices through these past months; she’s hardly in the position to say, “Well, actually…”

“It can’t have just been me that’s thought about this.”

 _What a conundrum_ she thinks, and the absurdity of the situation almost makes her burst out laughing—or into tears, she can’t quite decide yet. Her mind is a jumbled mess at the moment.

“Beck…”

“C’mon. Be honest with me.”

Honest…Be honest about the carnal desires she can’t even admit to herself because they’re so shameful? As handsome as he may be, it’s a mistake. She knows that at the root of it she isn’t in love with Beck or even really cares about him, but she just wants to have him for a little bit. Purely physical, nothing more. He’s a terrible man; wanting something with him would be the dumbest decision of her life.

The truth of the matter is that whatever the consequences, [Name] just wants to forget. It’s a tad bit cruel that her body wants to forget with the _exact person creating these problems for her_ , but nobody’s perfect. He seems to be throwing himself on her anyways. The opportunity is here, waiting, and—oh, dammit—

(It’s the beard that pushes her over the edge, let’s be honest.)

“Maybe it isn’t just you,” she says lowly.

The mischief on Beck’s face is almost infectious. “Are you sure you don’t want another drink? One for the road?”

“Don’t make me regret—“

“Regret? I didn’t force you to be so smitten with me, honey. Can I ask a question?” Before she can say no, he says: “And you don’t have to lie to me: do you or do you not…doodle our names with little hearts in your diary?”

“You are…”

“What? I’m what?”

The grin on his face is rambunctious and makes him look ten years younger.

“You’re insufferable,” she decides. And weird. And insane.

Oh, God, what has she agreed to?

“I’m irresistible. Case in point.” Beck rises from the stool and, to her immense horror, raises his voice for all to hear. “Everyone! Everybody, listen up!” With their attention caught and voices silenced, he continues: “Again, well done to all for these past few months of rigorous, _trying_ work. It’s been a long night so I will be turning in. [Name] will be as well. Unrelated, of course,” he adds with a wink over his shoulder as members of the team whistle and hoot. 

She’s going to kill Beck. Like, actually murder him.

Beck shakes hands as he moves through the wall of people towards the door, clapping shoulders and passing smiles around. [Name] tries loitering behind, she’ll just catch up with him later, but then he retraces his steps and grabs her arm. His mouth finds her ear. “Having regrets?”

“I hate you.”

“Et tu, Brute?”

After an embarrassing walk through their taunting team, they emerge out into Slavic air. The moon is high in the sky, and the streets are gradually repopulating, the public still scarred from tonight’s battle. But from the looks of it, the Festival of Lights may go on. She can only hope it does; why did they have to dampen such good moods?

Prague is beautiful. So was Venice. That’s been one of the only upsides of all this chaos: the travel. She loves seeing new places, and everywhere they’ve been has delivered. So rich in history and love—right before Beck ruined it all, of course. The thought of how much destruction they’ve caused to these places that have stood hundreds of year thus far…it ties a knot in her stomach.

The heat in her cheeks burns against the October air. A wind flutters through their hair. The hand gripping her arm has softened and loops around her wrist, still in charge and guiding the way. A subtle gesture of authority.

“How’re you liking Prague?”

“It’s pretty,” she says.

“This is my first time.”

“Visiting Prague?”

“No, having sex.”

Her eyes roll. “Beck—“

“Lemme guess: you hate me?” He comes to a stop. They’re in front of the hotel, and he reels her in until she’s nearly flush with his front. The sudden closeness is overwhelming and she stares, helpless, into his face. His voice lowers into less than a whisper, a mere breath. “If you hate me so damn much, then why are you here? People that hate people don’t _sleep_ with them.”

She swallows, her eyes searching. A lame shrug. “Poor impulse control?” she offers.

A snort. “You’ve got that right.”

All of them have been staying in the same hotel as each other with every city they visit. It’s for convenience; if something goes wrong or needs tending to, they’re within distance to hear all at once. To keep SHIELD from getting suspicious—seeing the same twenty people following Beck isn’t very conspicuous—they’ve adopted disguises. [Name] didn’t expect it to work, but Fury seems to be slacking lately.

Beck leads the way to his own room. It’s meticulously neat and barren, likely to keep SHIELD from snooping, but also because Beck is diligent. In the time she’s known him, she’s never seen Beck make even the smallest mess. Very ironic considering how dilapidated his mind has become.

Continuing from downstairs, he shuts the door and adds: “Maybe I’m more irresistible than I thought. You’re a smart girl. You shouldn’t be here, but you are. I guess I’m just hard to say no to.”

The impulse to be reproachful is tempting, but she decides to stoop to his level. Fine, she’ll play his game.

This time she’s the one to grab his arm. She secures it, then the other, around her waist, and links her hands around his neck. It’s one thing to imagine doing these things when she’s been bored in the lab, but it’s a whole other animal to be pressed against him completely, noses nearly brushing, his eyes growing hungry. 

“Maybe you are,” she breathes, and allows her mouth to brush his bottom lip.

Beck hums low in his chest, approving, and runs his hand up and down her side, tracing from waist to hip and back again. 

“Strong, irresistible Beck,” she hums, and finally closes the distance. His mouth is hot and pliable, and she digs her fingers through his hair as they slowly pick each other apart. Despite the game, a warmth builds in the pit of her stomach. _Traitor._ The rub of his beard is intoxicating and so distracting that she nearly forgets the trap she’s laying.

Within moments Beck has her up against the wall. His hand slips down to her thigh, hooking it around his middle. The fake wedding band he’s been donning as Mysterio burns cold against her skin. This is all so, so wrong, but she isn’t a good enough person to put an end to it.

As much as she tries staying in control, Beck quickly upheaves that. Soon she’s the one moaning into his mouth and grasping at his stupid green suit and stupid hair, needing him closer until nothing can get between them. A cruel smile presses to her throat as he runs kisses along the sensitive skin, and she knows he’s about to spit out some joke to get under her skin, so she beats him to the punch:

“C-Can I tell you a secret?”

It comes out in an embarrassingly breathy voice, nearly betraying the composure she’s fighting so hard to maintain—just to get this last little bit out.

She hadn’t told him earlier, but now seems the perfect time to throw this back in his face. Even if it pisses him off to no end—well, that’s kind of the point. She wants to ruin his night. She wants to slap that cocky smirk off of his face. And she knows him so well that she knows just what to say.

“‘Course,” he mutters. “I’m great at keeping secrets.”

“I think the reason I can’t seem to say no to you,” she says, and stands on her toes to whisper in his ear, “is because I’ve always wanted to fuck Tony Stark.”

Beck jerks back like he’s been slapped. The loss of his solid form and warmth is significant, but she keeps her face flat.

“What did you just say?”

“Well, you remind me so much of him.”

The looks that pass over his face range from extreme nausea to murderous rage. Even though she should be frightened, she can’t find it in herself to regret saying the words. He deserves a kick in the ass. 

_Stop that._

_Stop what?_

_Nothing._

_No, what is it?_

_Stop acting like Stark_ , she had wanted to say. Because he is. Whether Beck realizes it or not, he’s becoming his greatest enemy and it’s so damn poetic that she can’t help throwing it back in his face. How can nobody else see it? He’s taking all of the bad things about Tony—the arrogance, the stubbornness—and leaving behind all the good and molding himself into this wild monster.

“What did you just fucking say?” he echoes. 

There’s no way he isn’t going to kill her. Fine. At least that blow to his ego will simmer long after she’s gone. He’ll remember it for the rest of his life. That’s good enough for her.

“You heard me.”

“I know what you’re up to. Don’t look so innocent.”

“What, Beck? Enlighten me.”

Quick as lightning, his hand is around her throat and she’s back against the wall like before. He’s so close that she can feel the hot, angry breath on her cheek. Her heart hammers painfully against her chest. This is it.

“You love getting under my skin, don’t you? Worse, you know just what to say to do it. In a weird way, I think you’re the most dangerous out of all of us.”

Is it wrong she’s kinda flattered? At least in her final moments she can gloat that Quentin Beck deems her a threat. 

“I just say it for how it is. The only difference is I’m not afraid of you. The rest of them?” She nods her head vaguely towards the window. “They’re terrified. They listen to you not because of respect, but because they don’t know what you’ll do to them.”

“I deem that respect.”

She snorts. “Then you’re more fucked up than I thought. They respected Tony Stark more than they’ll ever respect you.”

Beck is shaking. His hand minutely tightens as the gears in his mind whir. 

“If you’re gonna kill me, get it over with.”

His eyes twitch, then he releases her throat. There’ll be a bruise there by tomorrow. If she makes it to see tomorrow.

“Do it,” she spits out. This is the bravest she’s ever been and will be. She’s never experienced such strength before; she’s nearly high on it. 

The look of confusion is almost amusing. Then his mouth slams back on hers so hard that her teeth rattle. His hands move to the small of her back and press her against him, and a shock runs through her when she feels how hard he is.

With a struggle, she breaks the kiss. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don’t tell me all this fighting doesn’t get you going.”

Dumbfounded, her mouth hangs open. “What is wrong with you?”

“The door’s right there. Make a decision.”

The whiplash of the past minute has yet to catch up and right itself. She can’t make heads or tails of the situation, but all she knows is that a very turned-on Beck is standing in front of her with a hungry gleam in his eyes and swollen lips, his hair mussed from her playing through it, and his broad chest heaving with the exertion. 

It’s fair to say [Name]’s sobered up by this point, but still, when she kisses him, she tells herself it’s the whiskey talking. It’s the only thing that’ll make her not hate herself.


End file.
